Wings
by robinelli92
Summary: What man knows greater tragedy than the one watching those who move freely in the sky, while shackled to the ground? Winged! AU, MakoHaru
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, what have we here. It's an attempt at an AU, where at least one of our heroes has wings. It came to me as a result of a multitude of inspirations and I hope you enjoy.

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 **Wings**

'What man knows greater tragedy than the one watching those who move freely in the sky, while shackled to the ground?'

It was behind green eyes, that such a thought originated as they scanned the sky, in which elegant figures were hurrying every which way on their daily business.

The market place our watcher inhabited at that moment was grey from dirt and dust, the air filled with the same from passers-by incessantly disturbing the ground. No refreshing gust of wind reached through the high brown and grey buildings around to clear the air.

Such was the nature of life on the ground in the city for those without wings. It was a fate that most soon reconciled themselves with, for it was the fate of almost all, and even on solid ground, surrounded by towering man-made structures which served no other needs than to live and to work, a meaningful life was to be had in many ways.

Those who could fly were the few, the lucky, destined to hover over the poor earthbound creatures, watching from above.

It was for a very particular such fortunate person that our watcher was keeping his eye out, and when the familiar form and the glistening black hair came into sight, a soft smile graced manly features.

A tan hand went into the air, waving the subject of interest hello as large white wings catapulted the lithe form through the air towards their destination.

Soon the blue of those familiar eyes was visible, as clear and shining as the purest of sapphires and sooner still the other man landed softly on the ground, wings spread to slow the descent.

More dust was whirled about by the slight movement of wings tucking in. The watcher smiled content and inclined his head in a familiar greeting.

"Good morning Haru." said he, voice soft.

The other just nodded, not unkindly but seemingly not willing to converse at that moment.

Graceful fingers attentively removed a small package from the messenger bag, an object as typical of a winged courier as one could think of, and handed it to the taller man.

Larger, more calloused hands carefully took the object marked with the trade sign for 'handle with care, glass inside'. Another bright smile conquered the friendly face, filled with gratitude and fondness.

"I cannot thank you enough!", enthused the olive haired man, sincerity in his voice so overwhelming that the other turned his eyes to the ground.

"If your siblings are as pleased as you are, that will be more than sufficient", came the answer. No emotion was shown in the voice, but the most minute softening in posture and around the eyes betrayed a deeper care.

The pair spent a moment in silence, before the winged man with a soft sigh turned his sights toward the sky again.

"Makoto...", he started, voice soft, but whatever words should follow seemed to have flown before they could be caught.

"The call of duty, I am familiar." A smile that didn't quite reach green eyes would not leave the kind face until the winged man had swung himself up into the thick air again, the motion awakening a veritable storm of dust.

Those very eyes followed the shrinking form until it was but a speck in the distance. The smile was fading, expression becoming wistful before longing consumed first the heart and then the gleam in green eyes.

Turning on his heel and making his way towards home, it dawned on our faithful watcher that his tragedy really wasn't in having to watch those who had a freedom which he did not.

It was having to let the one he loved go where he could not follow.

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A/N: Comments and Pms even if critical are more than welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here have a second chapter for this little winged AU. Hope you enjoy.

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The familiar rush of air engulfed our winged man, as one strong stroke of white wings freed him from the grip of the ground below.

Soon he was soaring higher and higher gliding through the welcoming clear sky, elegantly avoiding other winged travellers.

His blue eyes had never strayed back to search for that brown hair, those green eyes, and the question came unbidden, as always, what regret was the more terrible one. The known of not having looked back, or the unknown of watching your beloved slowly fade into the distance, for our winged courier knew that once he turned back, he could not avert his gaze until there was no more hint of the other's presence.

No matter now, he thought. There was more to be delivered and swiftly. It was fortunate that the air had accepted him quickly and heartily, way back when his wings had first spread and he had pushed himself off the ground softly, flapping his new limbs carefully and soon finding the air accommodating.

Now, ten years later, there was no faster flyer to be found in the city. Work had been found for him in swift order with the couriers. Ever since, letters and packages had reached their destinations by his hand.

The high society in their towering lofts, adorned with glass fronts framed by elegant metal structures and heat conserving stone, always received their mail personally. More often than not, they were already awaiting an oh so important letter, or oh so expensive package, standing on their intricately fenced in balconies, overlooking the sprawling grey city below but seeing further, to where nature had not yet been claimed.

With distaste our winged courier left a lady after handing her a love letter, not from the husband. No thanks was expected, and the expectation proved true.

A merchant was already pacing on his tastelessly gilded balcony when he was approached and handed the package he had waited for. Rude words were spoken and accepted.

A little girl showed some sign of excitement when he handed her a gift from her aunt, a man counting at least 30 years broke into tears after opening a letter, whether for happy or devastating news, our retreating courier had neither inkling nor interest.

Such was the nature of the work, connected yet impersonal, forever in the service of others' purposes and yet it was the most free you could be in this place.

After finally all personal deliveries were done our courier came down softly on the rooftop of the most ugly block of a grey stone an architect's mind could conceive. Inside he gave the rest of his deliveries to a bored looking clerk, who swiftly and without care stowed them away.

Here the common people of the district could come and get their mail after or before a hard day's work in the dirt and dust of the city.

In the building with it's old wallpaper, terrible light and dusty ground our courier felt an oppressive weight settling over his lungs and at once sought the clear sky again.

This was a painful reminder of why there was no going back to that place, to those green eyes.

For the freedom to roam the skies had cost him bitterly in health, such that the stuffy air on the ground was unbearable for more than the shortest of times.

When the sky had embraced him, he had to realize with bitterness that his body had deemed the earth not worthy of his feet. His own constitution had kept him from those dearest to his heart ever since.

Night was already falling when our courier reached his own abode, a humble apartment, with only simple adornments around the balcony and the door leading inside.

Collapsing into the heap of blankets and pillows which served as his nest, our courier studied his ceiling, deep in thought.

Although it was usually a dull ache now, like a deep wound long healed, every time our courier found himself opposite those eyes the painful question came back like scar tissue ripping open violently:

'What value is there in the freedom of the whole sky, when all you hold dear is on the ground where you cannot walk.'

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Hope you enjoyed and you know what to do if you did.


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